


Gold Fever

by akblake



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Exasperated Hobbit, Gen, Humor, gold sick dwarves who are driving hobbit to the end of his rope, very nearly crack!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akblake/pseuds/akblake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparked by a 'what if' thought- what if gold fever in dwarves was like chicken pox in humans, where pretty much everyone gets it? On the heels of that idea came the realization that most of the company were too young to have experienced it when Erebor fell... but what would happen when they retook the mountain and were exposed to all that gold for the first time? Cue dwarves going out of their minds, a hobbit rapidly losing his sanity, and a battle on their doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Took liberties with their ages- mostly followed movie!canon as that would put them all at about the correct age for what I planned, with Balin being the oldest. Book!canon had Thorin the elder of the company at 195, so that was right out. Conversely, kept book!canon for Smaug's attack as Thorin was only 24 for the event- in dwarf years that is still a child, given that they can live to be 200-250+. So expect a bit of shifting and take it with a grain of salt ;) Enjoy the insanity!

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to resist the urge to bash his head into the wall behind him, or bash their thick heads instead. "So, you're telling me that this is something which _every_ dwarf goes through?" he asked tiredly.

 

"Aye, every dwarf comes into the fever as an adolescent. It’s a rite of passage which marks a child’s readiness to enter adulthood, that he or she understands the value of gold as more than a shiny plaything," Balin gently explained from his position beside Bilbo as they watched twelve dwarves cavort through the treasury’s ocean of gold. "It's to my shame that I didn't think of this possibility earlier."

 

Bilbo turned to face the old dwarf, curious now despite his vexation and complete confusion with dwarven rites. "How could you _possibly_ foresee them going mad like this, and for that matter why aren't you down there with them if it’s not limited to children? Not that I’m complaining, mind," he hastened to take back what could be taken as an offense. Balin’s steadying presence was greatly appreciated even as the others descended into complete lunacy.

 

An invitation had him sitting on the top of the treasury steps at Balin’s side. "I already had my fever lad, when Erebor was in her full glory and not long before she fell. The others, though, were far too young for it when the calamity happened or weren't born yet and came of age in the Blue Mountains." He met Bilbo's still puzzled look. "We built a home of our own there, but we were still refugees and never accumulated enough hoarded gold to trigger the fever in our young ones. ‘Twas a deep mark of shame that we all felt, and we did our best to forget about our lack, to survive rather than mourn what we could not have. With the time that’s passed by and my joy in seeing our home again, I forgot that although the lads are grown now they've never had their gold fever."

 

Bilbo blew out a gusty sigh. "Alright, nothing to be done about it now," he abandoned his ire- the others weren't idiots by their own choice- and focused on the problem. "So what do we do with them? They wouldn't come to breakfast or lunch and we can't just leave them here."

 

"We'll have to leave them- once the fever set in they won't be parted from the gold. Used to be that the older family members would gather around the young ones, see to their needs, and support them as they fell to the fever. You and I will have to look after them, Master Baggins, as they will waste away without knowing it. Their minds are too filled with gold to think of mundane things like food or drink."

 

"Can't we lock them in a room until it passes?" Bilbo asked. He wasn't looking forward to playing nursemaid to twelve dwarves who were out of their minds with adoration for gold.

 

Balin looked horrified. "We absolutely could _not_!" he retorted. "They would battle to return to the gold and would recognize neither pain nor kin in the fight. We used to have rooms which circled the treasury so that those in fever didn’t interfere with the accounts or get underfoot, but they’ve ravaged by time and rot same as the rest and the two of us don’t stand a chance of cleaning out enough of them. The only hope for it is to leave them right here until it passes and pray that it passes quickly."

 

Now he dearly wished that he could smack a few dwarf heads against a wall. “Then let’s feed ourselves before we try to get dinner into that lot,” Bilbo acquiesced as he heaved his tired body to its feet and watched enviously as a much more rested Balin hopped up easily. Following Thorin’s last orders, Balin had spent much of the early morning with the messenger crows sending out letters to the dwarves in the Iron Hills and Blue Mountains before he took his own rest during the day. With as dark inside as Erebor was, finding a dark place to sleep even during the day was a simple matter. Bilbo, however, had remained awake following Smaug’s nighttime flight and subsequent death, and had occupied himself with setting up a temporary camp in the great hall before he was sidetracked with worry over the twelve.

 

Dinner was a very simple matter by virtue of the fact that they truly didn’t have much left in their packs. A bit of cram, salted meat, and a bruised apple each were all that they could spare for themselves, and Bilbo decided that the twelve idiots rolling around in the treasury could make do with only cram and meat (if they were rock-headed enough to forget that food existed, they didn’t deserve apples). “Are we going to be safe, interrupting them like this?” Bilbo called over to Balin as he carried a handful of food and a waterskin over to an oblivious Kíli.

 

“Just don’t try to take their gold or take them away from the gold and they’ll not harm you,” Balin reassured. He was chivvying his own brother into eating, a job that Bilbo was thankful to leave him to.

 

After three dropped wafers of cram and getting himself stepped over twice, Bilbo learned that the best way to get Kíli to eat was to simply shove the food into his mouth. Once there the lad would distractedly chew and swallow without complaint. “You certainly are the strangest baby bird that I’ve ever fed,” he teased the youngest prince to fill the uncomfortable silence. Watering him also proved to be far less messy, and less hazardous to Bilbo’s toes, when poured into a golden cup and pushed unceremoniously into Kíli’s face. Of course, he lost the cup when it was grabbed out of his hands, but at least its contents were consumed so he counted that as a win.

 

Armed with the experience, Bilbo turned to tackle Fíli. He was both easier and more difficult to handle than his brother. He didn’t step on Bilbo at all, for which Bilbo thanked all the Valar, but his mustache made feeding him a bit of a trick. Thankfully, neither Kíli nor Fíli complained about eating food that had been dropped (repeatedly) onto gold and simply ate whatever they were given.

 

“Now see here- you may be out of your head, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t have manners!” Bilbo shrieked as he shook his stinging hand. Balin’s worried questioning interrupted the stinging lecture he was about to give and he turned to face the dwarf. “Thorin,” he explained, pointing an accusing and sore finger back at the unimpressed king who was rooting around in a pile of mixed gems and jewelry. “He actually _bit_ me when I tried to feed him!”

 

Balin laughed in the face of Bilbo’s outrage. “Aye, you have to watch him. Think he learned it from his sister- Dís was always the biter,” he explained fondly. “If you’ll take Glóin, I’ll feed Thorin.”

 

Bilbo happily agreed to the change as dwarven fingers and skin were far tougher than his and he didn’t mind letting Balin get chewed on in his place. In comparison, Glóin was completely docile and he finished within a few minutes to move on to catch Nori. Not so much catch as merely try to keep up and shove food in his mouth every time the thief slowed down enough for Bilbo to aim properly. Bilbo was wheezing for breath by the time he finished, and Nori had cram poked in his eye and a bit of meat stuck in his ear when he’d turned wrong, but they came through it without Bilbo getting stepped on or bitten. He counted that as a minor miracle at this point.

 

By the time twelve distracted dwarves were fed and watered, Balin and Bilbo both collapsed to sit against each other on the top step of the treasury stairs. They were exhausted, bruised, sweaty, and most definitely _not_ looking forward to doing this three times a day until the others recovered. Balin used the master control to shut down the treasury’s oil lamps, a dwarven invention that Bilbo hadn’t the energy to even care about questioning, and the two dragged themselves off to their bedrolls. Hopefully the twelve would sleep in the darkness, but if they didn’t then there was absolutely no way to force the issue, and neither was going to bother trying. They recognized a losing battle when they saw one.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Bilbo truly did not want to wake up- waking up meant getting up, and that meant _moving_. He was stiff and sore in places that didn’t hurt even after the trolls, and that was saying something! Mental complaints were abandoned as heavy footsteps; more footsteps than Balin alone could produce, marched over to stop where Bilbo judged the fire to be. He gave in and opened his eyes.

 

“Bard?” Bilbo asked incredulously and gingerly sat up, rubbing his knee where a particularly vivid bruise from Fíli’s boot had blossomed overnight.

 

The man came around the fire to give Bilbo a hand up off the floor. “Not just me, Master Baggins,” he said as he urged Bilbo to follow with Balin, “I’m afraid that I must ask a meeting with your king this morning and Master Balin refused to speak with us without your presence.”

 

“What us?” Bilbo asked and then subsided under the look that Balin sent him. The three walked in silence for the short distance from the great hall to a small room near the doors. There, Bilbo was surprised to see the Elvenking waiting for them along with a pair of elves and men, presumably guards if he judged their posture correctly.

 

Balin cleared his throat. “I regret to inform you that our king is indisposed at the moment,” he stated delicately. “I am authorized to speak in his stead, however, so how may I assist you, my lords?”

 

Bilbo stared. He’d never seen Balin act so… well, courtly was the only word that came to his mind. Formal? And Bard wasn’t a lord, was he? Bilbo supposed that more conversation had passed before he had been awakened and resolved to ask Balin for the particulars later. He jolted back to the conversation when Balin subtly nudged his sore foot and realized that he’d missed something.

 

“No, my lord Bard, I did not say that we will not give you the gold to rebuild, only that we cannot give it to you right now. We have a bit of a situation in the treasury and no gold will be able to leave for the next few weeks,” Balin explained, both for Bard and, with a bit of a glance, for Bilbo who hadn’t been paying attention.

 

“With the dragon slain and no obstruction remaining, what situation could possibly keep your king from conference and your gold in your mountain? Other than your greed, perhaps?” Thranduil’s calm yet acidic voice asked.

 

Bard looked down at the table uncomfortably and Balin visibly struggled with this composure over the slight. “The situation is not something which is normally explained to outsiders,” Balin slowly explained. “During their life, all dwarves must fall ill to gold fever once, and right now we have twelve dwarves in the treasury who are ill with it. Any attempts to remove even a single piece of gold will be met with deadly opposition.”

 

Thranduil didn’t look convinced, as much as he ever displayed any expression that Bilbo had ever seen, and Bard simply looked a bit confused. “It’s like with hobbits,” he spoke up and tried not to flinch at drawing their attention. “As faunts and tweens* we get what we call ‘hot foot’. It’s something that everyone gets, an itching and burning in the feet, and sometimes the unlucky one loses all of his or her hair, but it passes within a week and you can’t ever catch it again. The dwarves just have their own illness and we have to wait for it to pass before everything goes back to rights.”

 

Bard’s expression cleared. “Men have a few illnesses which are similar,” he acceded with a nod.

 

“Elves do not,” Thranduil spoke, “and I do not entirely trust your explanation about how a simple _illness_ could close your treasury. Simply take what you need and let the gold-besotted fools have the rest.”

 

One of the guards shifted restlessly and then stepped into the light to speak to Thranduil. Bilbo was startled to see that it was the same female who had kept the company imprisoned; though he didn’t know her name, her impossibly long red hair had stuck in his memory. “My lord, we may not experience illness as mortals do, but there are those who have communed with the forest and been lost; their minds trapped in the trees and never returned to their bodies. Perhaps the dwarves are similarly trapped by their gold, for all they say that stone and metal speak to _them_?” She stepped back into the shadows against the wall as a more thoughtful Thranduil pondered her words.

 

“Perhaps I have judged you too harshly, Master Dwarf. My apologies if this is the case,” the Elvenking motioned with his hand and Bilbo assumed that it was some sort of apologetic gesture among elves. If it was, though, he felt that it was a bit rude to use it in a meeting with a man and a dwarf, since none would understand the gesture, but as the elf had finally accepted that the dwarves were ill he wasn’t going to sidetrack their discussion with a lecture in manners.

 

Balin quickly spoke up. “Actually, I have an idea that should help your men start rebuilding,” he nodded to Bard, “and yet not lose any lives in raiding the treasury until it’s safe to do so. If you would be so kind as to help the men for these first few weeks with food and shelter, my lord,” this time he nodded to a very surprised Thranduil, “then I can draw up a contract detailing the terms of repayment for both yourself and for the remainder owed to lord Bard. Once it’s signed by all three of us, even Thorin will have to honor it as it will be a binding document to the crown. Will this allay your fears?”

 

“I had not doubted your promise, Master Balin, but the immediate help would prove to be invaluable if lord Thranduil would be able to lend it,” Bard cleverly soothed Balin and prompted Thranduil. Bilbo had to admire his diplomacy, for it was a difficult skill to learn; he himself had learned the art at so many family dinners, where an incorrect word or tonal inflection could send a cousin spinning off into a sulk, or alienate an entire branch of the bloodline.

 

Thranduil’s mouth looked rather pinched, as if he didn’t appreciate being backed into offering his people and provisions but was far too well bred to tell them where to shove it. “It would be our honor to assist our friends in their time of need,” he spoke tightly. Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling inappropriately.

 

“Wonderful, then I shall have the contract drafted and ready for signing within the day. Lord Bard, may I ask a favor of you?” Balin asked.

 

Bard looked at him questioningly rather than agreeing to a favor which he likely couldn’t agree to granting, given the state of his town.

 

“I’ve had a thought as to how we can free the treasury sooner than I originally expected, but I’ll need the loan of five of your men if you can spare them. We don’t have much in the way of provisions, but we can offer them a safe place to sleep even if it’s perhaps not the most comfortable,” Balin stated slowly, obviously still thinking and working out details in his head. Bilbo sat quietly and listened as he had no clue what the dwarf intended.

 

“I will ask for volunteers and there should be several out of those who lost their homes who would trade a bit of work for sanctuary until their homes are rebuilt. Could I offer another trade: when lord Thranduil sends food supplies, I can send part of it and plenty of firewood if you could offer sanctuary to more of my families who have been left homeless?” Bard watched Balin hopefully.

 

Balin nodded easily. “Aye, I don’t imagine that you have much space in those houses to put that many extra people, and right now we have nothing but space. As long as they agree to stay in the three safe areas that Bilbo and I have seen so far, and don’t mind that we’re living a bit… rustic… then I agree to your trade. Your people are welcome to sanctuary, and we’ll be quite thankful to have more than cram and salted venison,” he shared a laugh with Bard and Bilbo while Thranduil simply watched them. He didn’t appear too amused with their antics, though it was difficult for Bilbo to tell his thoughts.

 

Although he knew that the offer would mostly benefit Bard’s people sheltering in Erebor, Bilbo himself would appreciate the extra food being offered. Salted meat and cram weren’t great for the digestion, and neither of them would have time to run out after firewood, what with taking care of twelve dwarves. There would be precious little time in between feeding the dwarves, finding furniture to burn, resting up a bit, and then turning around to spend more time feeding the dwarves again. It was like taking care of twelve infants at once!

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

After the meeting, Bilbo and Balin had a very late breakfast/lunch and headed back to the treasury. When the lamps were turned back on, it was impossible to tell whether anyone had slept or not as all were awake and moving.

 

“Well, let’s get to it, lad,” Balin encouraged, and headed over to care for Dwalin first. Bilbo had to appreciate the smaller dwarf’s approach in handling his brother, however, as viciously twisting his ear did make the much taller Dwalin bend over to have food shoved in his mouth. Bilbo just didn’t think that he’d ever be brave enough to try doing that himself.

 

Kíli was just as easy to feed as the night before and Bilbo remembered to dodge Fíli’s boots after being stepped on only once today. He decidedly left Thorin for Balin to deal with as he was certain that he’d strangle the king with his own braids if the dwarf bit him again.

 

In circling around Thorin, Bilbo nearly ran into Bifur and had to do a quick dance to avoid sliding on his rump down a pile of slippery gold coins. A large hand clamped onto his elbow to steady him and he whipped around to stare in shock. “Bifur?” he called hopefully. None of the other dwarves had paid him any attention as he fed and manhandled them, only if he got in the way of their gold and even then it was to move around him. His hopes were dashed as the clear look in Bifur’s eyes faded back into the fever’s glaze and he went back to pawing through a collection of what looked like mutilated gold railings from the walkways. Smaug truly had collected every bit of gold that he could get his claws on, Bilbo mused as he silently fed the distracted dwarf. As he turned to go to the next dwarf, Bifur patted him on the shoulder and dropped a coin on his head. “Erm, thank you?” Bilbo stammered in confusion and stared at the dwarf’s back for a few long seconds. Bifur had already turned back to the railings, so Bilbo didn’t bother trying to get his attention again. He quickly placed the coin back with the rest as he didn’t want to risk taking it out of the treasury.

 

He slowly worked his way through the rest of the dwarves and did get a bit better with Nori- at least the food made it into his mouth and not stuck everywhere else this time. He also made a mental note to mention to Balin that they’d need to do something about washing up, as the dwarves were getting a bit grubby from the food and from wallowing around in all the dust and metal.

 

Once finished, Bilbo joined Balin at the steps again and the two sat to catch their breath. Caring for twelve dwarves, even if the job was halved, was still worse than caring for all of his Took cousins put together. Of course, these were the same cousins who thought that a wolf could be tamed simply by saddling it like a pony…

 

“We really need to wash them up,” Bilbo brought up the issue he’d noticed to avoid the memories that his mental wandering had dredged up. “They’re getting horribly filthy, and they’re likely to pick up an infection if we let it go for weeks until the fever passes.”

 

Balin sighed. “I was noticing the same thing, Master Baggins. We need to wash them down a bit, or at least face and hands, but they’ll be a mite difficult to corral when they’re running free. We can do it in a few days, if everything goes well,” he said.

 

“If we’re going to be looking after these idiots together, please call me Bilbo,” he invited, “it’s not as if we’re in a position for formality, after all. And why can we wash them in a few days?” Bilbo was confused but didn’t think it was because of exhaustion this time, and at least he hadn’t taken any knocks to the head.

 

The dwarf seemed to realize that he hadn’t explained his idea as he hastened to speak. “Firstly, you’re to do the same for me, lad. Now then, the idea I had was to ask the men to help us clear out the rooms down there so that we can put our dwarves safely into them and get them out of the treasury. You and I can’t do it on our own, but if we have the aid of several men to carry out debris then it should go much faster, and we shouldn’t need but six rooms if I judge how everyone is reacting.”

 

“You think that they can share rooms without fighting?” Bilbo asked with curiosity as he looked back at the dwarves to try and see if he could discern any pairing or solitude to their actions.

 

“As long as they have enough gold, they shouldn’t fight their own blood. Thorin and Nori are the only two that I wouldn’t put in with their kin, and that’s due to their temperaments- Nori doesn’t do well in close quarters with anyone, even his own brothers, and Thorin can be put in with Dwalin rather than the boys.”

 

“They are enough to drive anyone insane even without the fever,” Bilbo had to agree. “Where are these rooms?”

 

Balin pointed to a doorway behind the far set of stairs. “Down that way is the fever wing and one set of rooms, and there is another set of rooms on the opposite side of the stairs. The difficult part won’t be cleaning out the rooms, we can do that well enough with the aid of the men; the difficult part will be in moving everyone into the rooms without a fight, and in placing gold in the rooms without our being attacked for it.” He shook his head in dismay, “That’s the one part that I absolutely cannot figure out, and I’ve been turning it over in my head all day long.”

 

Bilbo smiled then, and it was a hard little crafty smile born from five decades of dealing with excitable and irresponsible relatives, such as cousins who didn’t know when to leave his wine cellar alone. “Oh, I have just the solution,” he offered. At Balin’s look he explained, “I can make an herb mix which will render them all unconscious for several hours. It should allow us enough time to move both gold and dwarves without bloodshed. They’re eating anything we put in their mouths without tasting anything, so I can put the herbs on their meat and we can dose them that way.”

 

“I do believe that could work!” Balin chortled delightedly and shared Bilbo’s slightly evil smile.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Two days later, Bilbo and Balin both were ready to fall over with exhaustion, but they were ready. With the help of the men, six rooms had been hastily cleared- rotted bed frames and mattresses were carefully piled in another hall for later removal along with other bits of furniture that Bilbo could only guess at as they had long since degenerated beyond recognition. They didn’t bother to wash the rooms as it would be a waste of precious water, but they did try to dust as much as they could with decayed tapestry bits wrapped around bits of firewood for brooms. Now they were ready for the most delicate part.

 

“I’m not sure how much to use, exactly. I don’t want to dose them too heavily,” Bilbo worriedly explained to Balin as he hesitated with the herb paste.

 

Balin patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself, lad. We have a strong constitution and besides, they would deserve it if they wake up with sore heads,” he laughed.

 

Bilbo shared his mirth and trusted Balin’s judgment, using the paste far more heavily than he would if he were using it for a hobbit. He split the batch of tainted meat, this time beef sent from Lake Town, to share with Balin and they trooped down to the treasury to chase after gold mad dwarves, hopefully for the last time. Having them penned in rooms should make feeding easier, Bilbo dearly hoped, as each feeding left him sore and exhausted. Bilbo shivered at the temperature change as he left the fire-warmed upper levels and descended into the treasury. Originally warmed entirely by the furnaces, Erebor sat silent and cold as no one tended them and they went out after Smaug’s demise. The fevered dwarves didn’t notice the chill- their own constitutions were bolstered by the fever and it kept them warm enough. Bilbo, however, wasn’t quite so lucky and shivered until all the chasing around warmed him up enough to sweat.

 

He was cold and grumpy enough that he didn’t even pass off the first dwarf that he ran into, Thorin, and merely tried Balin’s trick. Bilbo reached up, snatched a firm pinch of ear, and _twisted_. Thorin dropped to his knees with a bellow and Bilbo quite happily jammed in a mouthful of beef and cram without getting bitten. “Thank you Balin, that works beautifully,” he caroled joyfully as he got just a tiny bit of revenge on the ill-mannered dwarf. Once he finished with Thorin’s dose he left the king to kneel in his pile of gold coins, red ear and all, and felt much brighter about the afternoon.

 

Óin was incredibly easy to handle as the older dwarf only wanted to sit among a horde of necklaces that he’d gathered over the past five days. Balin explained that Óin had been on the cusp of gold fever when the calamity struck, but that the trauma had pulled him out of it; it had been a blessing, he explained, as he never could have survived the fever without gold to sate it, and the exiles had no gold as they traveled. He peacefully munched the pieces that Bilbo fed him, much the same as Bombur did, and sat petting his favorite pieces of gold.

 

Bilbo was forced into once again feeding and watering Fíli and Kíli, as somehow Balin always managed to _not_ be there. After being tripped over for the fourth time, Bilbo lost his patience and tipped Fíli into a deep section of shifting coins and forced him to eat while he didn’t have the footing to move much. It was a relief not to be stepped on for a few minutes, though Bilbo did feel rather bad about being mean to the young dwarf.

 

Kíli was more difficult than usual, and Bilbo wondered if he was responding to his brother’s distress or if he was simply in a mood. He didn’t get much time to wonder as he was forced to duck flying elbows and try to keep up with Kíli as he twisted and turned in an energetic fit across the shifting gold. Finally, he finished and let Kíli twirl off by himself as he retreated to the safety of the stairs.

 

“Now we wait,” Bilbo said with a sigh as he dropped down to join Balin on their familiar seat atop the highest step. They sat and rested in silence, amused by watching the twelve dwarves below, until one by one the dwarves began to lie down and stop moving. “Best give them a few more minutes before we start moving the gold,” he advised. Bilbo didn’t want one of them to not be fully asleep and end up getting himself massacred by the same dwarf that he was trying to help.

 

After what he and Balin deemed was a suitable length of time, the two descended with hands full of bed sheets which had been brought over by the men. Balin had suggested using them when Bilbo brought up the question of how the two of them were going to move six piles of gold by themselves.

 

Bilbo opened his sheet near Óin and proceeded to shove the hoard of necklaces onto the sheet before he gathered the corners to drag his improvised sack to the room designated for Óin and Glóin. Óin’s jewelry went into the far left corner away from the door which left the far right corner for Glóin’s pile of coins. Bilbo was puffing hard after pulling two heavy loads of gold, and he leaned against the wall for a few seconds to catch his breath. One room down, several more to go!

 

Fíli and Kíli weren’t picky about their gold, so he simply used the gold which was closest to the rooms so that he didn’t have to wear himself out by dragging the loaded sheet further. Two piles as deep as his knees in two corners, and their room was ready. Bilbo passed Balin in the corridor and confirmed that two more rooms were done, for a total of four, and that he’d take care of Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur’s room if Bilbo would prepare Dori and Ori’s on his side of the corridor. He didn’t mind at all, and dragged in two more piles of gold along with a hefty amount of cut gems for Dori.

 

For simplicity, Bilbo and Balin agreed to split the corridor between themselves. Bilbo would take the left side- Óin and Glóin, Fíli and Kíli, and Dori and Ori- while Balin would take the right- Nori, Thorin and Dwalin, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur. Bilbo noticed that he was still left looking after the two princes, but then Balin had to deal with his own brother _and_ Thorin, so he supposed that it all worked out to even.

 

However heavy and tiring it was to move the gold, Bilbo found that moving twelve unconscious dwarves was unbelievably worse. He and Balin stripped them of their armor, down to tunics and trousers, and yet they were still far, far heavier than they had any right to be. Bilbo struggled and slid as he helped carry each dwarf to his own pallet of gold- they had considered putting bedrolls in the rooms but had dismissed the idea. For the past five days the dwarves had been perfectly happy to sleep in the treasury, if they slept at all, and some of the bedrolls were being used for the families who sought shelter in the mountain. If gold made a good bed for the past five days, then it could remain a bed until the fever passed, they decided.

 

While the dwarves were unconscious, Balin wiped down their hands and faces with a damp rag to clean off as much of the grime as possible. “I’m just wiping noses here,” he explained when Bilbo complained about his doing all the work. “Why don’t you start our dinner and I’ll be along soon.”

 

Bilbo wanted to complain. He truly did, but then he also felt the jabs of pain from wrenched muscles every time he tried to move or bend and wisely gave up the argument without another word. The twelve weren’t going to move or put up a fight for a while yet, so Bilbo left him to it and slowly made his way back to their cooking fire. Despite making it himself, Bilbo didn’t remember what he ate for dinner, and immediately went to bed afterward. Bone deep exhaustion pulled him down into a sound sleep despite his sore body.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Another week and a half passed with the dwarves slowly getting better, though their moments of lucidity were limited to mere minutes rather than any appreciable time. Being shut in rooms also helped immeasurably in caring for them as Bilbo didn’t have to chase after them anymore, and they also felt safer about their hordes, an aspect which he didn’t realize was driving much of their frenetic energy.

 

Fíli now sat in the corner with his gold pile, blissfully buried in it, and didn’t fight Bilbo at all when it came to feeding, watering, or cleaning up as long as Bilbo didn’t get in the way of the gold. Kíli hadn’t caused much grief before, but now he curled up like a lazy cat atop his pile and contented himself with petting whichever piece caught his fancy for the moment. The others were very similar, though he had it on good authority from Balin that Thorin still occasionally tried to bite on the odd occasion. At least Dwalin behaved.

 

As they trudged back up from lunch on day seventeen, a young boy darted over to Balin. “Master Balin, there’s a dwarf at the gate asking for you!” he gasped in excitement.

 

Balin thanked the boy and sent him back to his family. Bilbo shared a hopeful look with the dwarf before they hurried out to the front gate.

 

There, in all their armored glory, stood an entire legion of dwarves. At their head was a dwarf who very much resembled Thorin in build and Balin’s happy cry of “Dáin!” confirmed that this was the Iron Hills king, and Thorin’s cousin.

 

Bilbo was introduced to Dáin, and then the dwarf was swept off to the treasury by Balin. He insisted on giving his greetings to Thorin personally, gold fever or no, and Bilbo wasn’t sure that was exactly a good idea. The dwarves weren’t comfortable with anyone other than Bilbo or Balin entering the rooms, as they had found out when they tried to recruit some of the men’s healers to help lighten their daily workload.

 

A shriek echoed up from the treasury and Bilbo took off sprinting, his bare feet sure against the polished stone floor. Halfway down the stairs, he met Balin who was supporting a white and shaking Dáin. “What happened?” he cried as he helped support the bleeding dwarf. With the way that Dáin had his hands curled around half his face, Bilbo couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from, and he couldn’t pry the large hands loose.

 

“Apparently Thorin is still a mite angry over Dáin’s refusal to send warriors to fight the dragon… he took one look at Dáin and bit him,” Balin explained with a wry humor in his eyes. Bilbo was hard pressed to withhold his own humor- it really was Dáin’s own fault for disturbing an ill dwarf, especially one who bore him a grudge in the first place and never had a solid hold on his temper even on a good day. “You go on and tell his men to set up camp outside our doors, and I’ll see to getting his ear patched up,” Balin redirected the visibly struggling Bilbo, and he was more than happy to obey before his laughter could escape.

 

Outside, though, Bilbo found chaos as an elven runner was encircled by a hostile host of Iron Hills dwarves. Bilbo sighed and braced himself before he waded into the fray to rescue the elf. He moved through, whacking dwarves on shoulders and helmets until they moved aside for them, and bellowed in order to be heard above the jeers. “Out of the way you thick-headed idiots, let me _through_!” Eventually, either his words or his murderous tone were heard and the circle widened to clear a path between the collected elf and irately twitching hobbit.

 

“I am Bilbo Baggins, Master Elf, and how may I help you?” he did his best to ask levelly and politely. Seventeen days of little sleep, little food, too much physical work, and dashing about after twelve dwarves who were running amok had well and truly exhausted his patience. Bilbo could be infinitely gentle with his own dwarves, as he actually cared about them and it wasn’t their own fault that they were gold sick twits, but everyone else was treading on exceptionally thin ice.

 

Perhaps he sensed the impending bloodshed if he didn’t speak plainly, or perhaps cued by the twitch around Bilbo’s left eye, the elf bowed and delivered his message with  unusual alacrity for his kind. “Our scouts have spied an army of orcs and wargs converging on the mountain; we have estimated their arrival to be some time tomorrow, if the weather remains favorable. In accordance with our contract, the elves of Mirkwood and the men of Lake Town stand to Erebor’s aid.”

 

Shocked out of his tetchy mood, Bilbo could only accept the elf’s offer as his head spun with the information. “I don’t know exactly what Master Balin wrote into the contract, but we will certainly welcome your aid. Did your scouts happen to say anything about the size of the army?”

 

The elf’s response froze Bilbo’s blood and he didn’t think that the roaring in his ears had anything to do with the dwarves’ war cries. “ _Thousands_.” Bilbo managed to croak out an appropriate goodbye to the elf and numbly stumbled off to find Balin; he felt rather faint at the moment, calculating their chances against thousands of orcs. He was fairly certain that Erebor’s allies wouldn’t number in the thousands, given that the men still had a large number of injured, he didn’t know how many the elves could raise, and Dáin had only brought one legion. Balin took one look at him and started making tea.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Acting as seneschals for Erebor, in fact the only stewards who still had their own minds, Bilbo and Balin separated to coordinate the two camps of allies. Balin remained behind with Dáin’s troops to defend the front gates while Bilbo was appointed liaison to the men and elves and sent to their camp on the opposite side of the valley. They were hoping to catch the dark army between their two halves and attack it from both sides to make better use of their smaller number. Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure about that idea, but he left the strategy to those who had a mind for warfare.

 

A mere ten minutes into the battle, however, and Bilbo was almost thankful for the rock which whacked against the side of his head. He was exhausted even before the battle began and easily surrendered to the enveloping darkness without a struggle as he suddenly couldn’t think of why he needed to stay awake. The chaotic din of metal clashing and voices screaming abruptly faded into meaningless noise and Bilbo didn’t know anything more.

 

His world was brightness and pain when he woke up and Bilbo didn’t know who grabbed his hand when he reached for his aching head. “Leggo,” he slurred, still halfway between here and there. Bilbo flinched as his own voice made the pain swell sickly in his head while his stomach rolled uneasily.

 

“You’ll make it hurt worse if you go poking it,” someone whispered as his hand was forced back down. Bilbo frowned as he dimly recognized the voice, one which he knew that he shouldn’t be hearing, and worked his eyes open. Light speared into his eyes in a kaleidoscope of candle light and _pain_ , and Bilbo’s stomach rebelled. Someone managed to get him turned over a bucket in time and he heaved with his body’s response. It didn’t help; the activity aggravated his head and made the pain worse which in turn made his stomach react, and Bilbo felt tears slide from the corners of his eyes with the force of his muscle spasms.

 

Heavy dwarven boots thumped around his cot but he didn’t bother to look up. Once he managed to get his stomach calmed, Bilbo slumped sideways against his pillow and simply rested while the headache banged away at the inside of his head in time with his heartbeat. More hands encouraged him to turn onto his back again and a damp cloth was placed over his eyes; Bilbo didn’t care at all that it kept him from looking around to track the voice, it felt marvelous as the damp coolness seeped into his sensitive eyes and banked some of the pain.

 

“The _elves_ left this for you, they said that it will help with the pain and nausea,” the impossible voice whispered and Bilbo felt the rim of a cup nudge his lips. He got a mouthful of truly repellant tea and sputtered as the bitter flavor threatened to reignite the unease in his middle. Slowly, mouthful by mouthful, he managed to drink the dose and never once did the voice become impatient or raised. Finally the cup was withdrawn and the cloth over his eyes was refreshed.

 

Bilbo tried to squirm into a more comfortable position but had to give it up as the cot felt like it was made out of sheer stone, with sawdust for a pillow. “How bad?” he managed to ask softly without making himself ill.

 

The voice chuckled a bit. “Bad enough to feel miserable, but not enough to be dangerous,” it reassured. “Both Óin and the elves have reassured us that you will recover swiftly if you will rest, and the elves swear that their concoction will work wonders. If you wish to sleep, do so, it’s safe enough.” Bilbo could have sworn that the voice was a wizard capable of reading his mind as he was already drifting off to sleep, the headache and nausea held at a more comfortable distance by whatever herbs were in the tea.

 

His second awakening went much better than the first. Bilbo woke to a decent headache, but no nausea, and the light wasn’t attempting to melt his eyeballs. He cautiously looked around the small stone room that he appeared to be in, one which wasn’t familiar to him though it had the same colored stone as all of Erebor; it was roughly the same size as his bedroom back at Bag End, but completely bare other than his cot, two tables, and a chair. A pressing need made itself known and he slowly pulled himself upright in preparation of standing.

 

Before he could get to his feet, though, a large form ducked through the doorway and stopped short in surprise. “Good morning,” Thorin greeted him easily, and Bilbo could only stare in return until another stab from his bladder reminded him that he had other things on his mind than confusing dwarves.

 

“Ah, yes, good morning. Could you point me in the direction of the facilities?” he delicately asked as he surreptitiously looked around for a dressing gown. He was clad only in a long tunic and propriety wouldn’t let him go wandering the halls half naked.

 

Thorin gave him a look of bemused resignation and Bilbo had a very bad feeling about his prospects for getting out of the bed, much less the room. “There’s a chamber pot under the bed,” he pointed out.

 

“No need for that,” Bilbo shook his head at the indignity, “I can see myself to the toilets just fine if you’ll point me in the correct direction. And a dressing gown, must have one of those, or a housecoat if you haven’t anything else. I’ll happily dress myself if you’ll provide my clothes.”

 

“Right now we’re in the healing wing which is far from the bathing and toilet facilities, Master Baggins. Óin has instructed that you are to remain in bed for the next two days, not wander about the halls, so your best choice is to use the chamber pot,” Thorin explained firmly but gently and Bilbo was struck by a memory of that same voice whispering patiently at him earlier when he was sick. He pushed aside his curiosity as his toes were nearly curling with his current need. Apparently reading his dilemma, Thorin backed out of the room. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll bring a tray of food.”

 

As soon as he had privacy, Bilbo dove for the chamber pot and nearly sighed out loud. It may have been incredibly inelegant to act as an invalid but he couldn’t deny that the relief was blissful. He pushed the soiled pot down by the foot of the bed so that it could be removed later and tucked his chilled legs back under the warm blankets- they must have been either a level lower than the entry or further back from it, as the air wasn’t warmed by fires. As neither he nor Balin had excavated any rooms, all of Bard’s refugees had camped out around family fires set on the floor in the main hall and what Bilbo assumed was a grand meeting room of some kind. It was large enough to host eight families, so he didn’t particularly care what its original purpose was, and Erebor’s stone floor wasn’t harmed by the fires.

 

Thorin reappeared with a tray and it appeared that Bilbo either woke in time for breakfast, or the sick were only being served porridge. He frowned a bit at the bowl of bland mush in dismay as the tray was settled in his lap.

 

“Keep that down and I’ll see about finding an apple for you later,” Thorin promised. He settled himself easily in the chair while Bilbo set about eating, first with disinterest and then with eagerness as his stomach let him know that it had been empty for longer than it preferred.

 

When he’d scraped the bowl empty, Bilbo leaned back into the pillow and accepted a cup of bitter-smelling tea from Thorin. “Not as bad as the first one,” Thorin reassured, “but Óin swears that it will help dull the headache.” Bilbo crinkled up his nose in disgust but drank down the tea as quickly as he could, doing his best to avoid tasting it. He traded the cup with Thorin for a mug of plain water and sipped it to try and dilute the aftertaste.

 

“How are you out here and so aware?” he ended up blurting out as he couldn’t quite find a more diplomatic way of asking why the dwarf wasn’t still down fondling his gold.

 

Thorin, thankfully, didn’t seem to take offense and only shifted in the chair to make himself more comfortable. “We were nearly recovered from our sickness, as I remember parts of Dáin’s visit, and then we were all drawn out of our rooms by the call of war. The screams and ringing of metal that echoed through Erebor’s corridors turned the remnants of the gold fever into the _úhúrud dumû_ , battle blood.”

 

Bilbo nodded at the explanation as it made as much sense to him as dwarves ever did, with their daffy worship of gold and warfare, and motioned for Thorin to continue.

 

Now the dwarf hesitated. “We armed ourselves and ran to assist our brethren at the gate, but,” he shifted uncomfortably and looked everywhere but at Bilbo.

 

“But Dáin’s troops shut the gate and locked them inside the mountain,” Balin calmly finished as he stepped inside the room. Bilbo was treated to the unforgettable sight of Thorin actually flushing with embarrassment.

 

“Yes, well, I’m sure that they thought we were still ill,” he tried to defend himself.

 

Balin snorted. “No, they just didn’t want to trip over you idiots and kept you where you couldn’t get hurt,” he rebutted.

 

Bilbo silently mused that Dáin’s actions _may_ have been more an act of revenge for Thorin biting his ear than trying to keep the company safe. But then, he wouldn’t have wanted twelve half-crazed dwarves stumbling around underfoot during a battle either, so he couldn’t blame the other dwarf. Either way he wasn’t going to ever let them live it down.

 

“It’s good to see you awake, Bilbo,” Balin greeted him, and Bilbo shared a large grin of welcome for his friend. They may not have been close during the journey, but they had forged a close friendship in the past weeks as they struggled together. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

 

“Just a knock to the head, I’ll be right as rain in a few days,” Bilbo assured his friend.

 

“And he’ll be well looked after in the meantime, as we all owe a very large debt to you, Master Baggins,” Thorin informed them both.

 

Bilbo and Balin both shared a crafty look which called to mind several conversations they’d had during tired dinners before bed. “Is that so?” Bilbo asked.

 

“You took care of us, and so we shall care for you; anything you need,” Thorin promised with a half bow.

 

“Well then, here is what we will do,” Bilbo firmly informed the king, “Once Óin says that I may leave the bed, I will find the library. If it is in acceptable condition, which it should be if Bard’s men are to be believed as they discovered it last week, then I am going to disappear into it for a few weeks to amuse myself reading.”

 

Balin leaned back against the door frame and watched Bilbo detail his demands. They had discussed how Bilbo wished to be repaid and the hobbit had disclosed his love of literature, which sparked Balin’s decision to send men to scout out the library’s condition. If the dwarves could shut themselves up with their favorite thing, then he would see that Bilbo received the chance to do the same in return. Besides, he was quite amused with watching Thorin’s expression as Bilbo’s list of demands included meals being delivered exactly on time per hobbit custom, a comfortable chair being brought into the library, and proper bathing facilities being created for the duration as he wasn’t “content to wallow in filth and his own stench like some dwarves”.

 

Bilbo finished his long list with a final complaint. “And for the love of all that’s holy, _go bathe_! You haven’t seen soap for three weeks, and while I appreciate your assistance when I couldn’t help myself, you smell worse than a wet warg.” They barely contained their laughter as a suitably chastened Thorin slunk out of the room. Balin followed a moment later as Bilbo yawned.

 

Bilbo set the mug of water on the floor by the bed and nestled back into his pillow; his heart was very much relieved to know that his dwarves were healthy again and hadn’t been injured in the battle, though he now could tease them about being locked in like younglings. He had also vented his ire over being left to care for twelve gold sick idiots, which was the reason for his demands and retreat into Erebor’s library. Bilbo was certain that Balin intended to join him in his holiday, both for the chance to examine the library’s structural integrity for himself and also to simply do nothing more pressing than sit and enjoy a good book for hours on end. Bilbo wasn’t the only one who was exhausted by the last two and a half weeks, even if he was the only one ready to strangle a horde of dwarves over it.

 

Bilbo curled up onto his side and pulled the blankets up to his chin; his headache had receded enough that it wasn’t roaring, his dwarves were safe, he had gotten to chastise Thorin without getting bitten for it, and he had a lovely literary holiday waiting for him in a few days. He fell asleep with a small smile on his lips.

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> * For those who don't know- Tolkien created the word “faunt” to mean a baby/toddler hobbit, and is the first recorded use of the word “tween” (for an adolescent hobbit).


End file.
